


Art's Rival

by TelepathJeneral



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan must come to the inevitable realization that Francoise does not love him as much as she loves her work, despite her romantic words. What he must do to correct it is one of the hardest things for him to do.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her head tilted back in an expression of pure ecstasy, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips as the familiar glow began to rush across her skin. Beneath her, the bed complained with the strain of their movements, and with her eyes closed she could hear the faint grunts of her lover as he neared his own climax. It was only a few moments later when he finally pulled out of her, coming with a low groan before shifting on the bed to lean up, gathering her in his arms to kiss the soft skin of her neck.

However, limbs askew, she pushed him away, opening her eyes with a sigh before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet padded against the floorboards as she found her shift, slipping it over her head before making a beeline for the desk and booting up the computer. Perched on his knees still among the mess of the sheets, Ivan watched the light of the computer splash across her features, a stark cold blue against the warmer red light of the bedroom.

“Francoise?”

“Shh, honey, I’m working.” Clambering onto her chair with some difficulty, her fingers quickly found their spots on the keyboard, working furiously to pull up a document and begin filling it with text.

“But…” He shrugged, turning to sit on the bed and watch as she poured herself into her work, hurriedly typing out whatever burst of inspiration she had had. He had learned long ago not to question, or even interrupt, when she was busy, and he supposed it was something of a tradition for the two of them. She seduced him, toying with him, then rushed back to her computer to do whatever she needed to, letting him clean up whatever mess they might have made.

“Francoise?”

“I said, be quiet, Ivan. You know how this works.” Her tone sharpened, and he sighed as he tried to maneuver his way out of the sheets. Stealing a glance at her every so often, he carefully laid out the bottom sheet again, pulling it taut before arranging the other blankets around the pillows. He looked down at himself, wincing at the unsightly figure dappled by the uneven light, then carefully shuffled closer to her desk to clear his throat.

“I’m going to, ah, take a shower…”

“Fine.” She acknowledged curtly, eyes never leaving her screen. Ivan blinked, hesitating, then nodded quickly before ducking into the bathroom adjoining their small bedroom. Soon, the sound of water being forced through the pipes rattled through the walls, and Francoise soon concluded her paragraph, straightening with a small smile. She began to search through the things among her desk, rifling through papers, when the water shut off again.

The door opened to spit out a somewhat muddled Ivan, leaning on the doorframe as he tried to formulate his next move. Francoise looked up at his arrival, then curled her lip in a faint sneer before shaking her head. “Get some clothes on. Imbecile.”

Ivan hesitated at her insult, then crossed the room to slip a shirt and a pair of pants on, turning to return the highlight of the room-their bed-and clambering onto the noisy mattress. “Are you…done?”

She shrugged, shift shimmering with the movement. “The chapter is. There is still work to do, though.”

“Oh.” He nodded, turning off the bedside light in order to lay down, then sighed as the light from her computer interrupted his attempts to sleep. “Are you coming to bed?”

“No.” She gestured sharply, shaking her head. “Don’t be an idiot. I said, there is still work to do. If I want this done by tomorrow, I have to get it finished.”

“Then why did you-why did you waste time with me?”

She sighed, setting down her papers in annoyance, then strode across the room to lean over the bed. “Because, ma cheri, you are my…inspiration.” He stared up at her as she trailed her fingers across his chin, finally releasing him with a playful smile. “I cannot work without a muse. But, now, Francoise has to finish up the last few touches, so that her editor does not get angry, and if the editor gets angry, then Francoise gets angry, oui? And we do not want Francoise angry, yes, Ivan?”

“Yes-I mean, no. No. You should…” He nodded, waving her off before shifting on the bed. “Do what you need to. I’ll try not to make too much noise.”

“Good.” She returned the nod, straightening to make her way back across to her desk. Ivan watched her for a moment longer, trying to squint against the harsh digital light, then turned over to pull the blankets around him.

“Good night, Francoise…” He mumbled, listening for a moment longer, then reluctantly drifted to sleep, the shuffle of her papers in the background forming, in his opinion, a rather boring lullaby.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning light made the dust motes sparkle as Ivan stood, making the bed squeak as the weight shifted. Francoise, for her part, groaned in complaint, waving her arms to try and block the light. “Ivan!”

“Sorry, sorry…” He mumbled half-heartedly, finding it useless to argue. Fighting a losing battle against the light, Francoise whined on her half of the bed, rolling over.

“Don’t do that…”

“Do what?” He glanced back at her, pulling on his pants. “What am I doing?”

“You’re disturbing things!”

“Francoise, I have to go to work-“

“You don’t have to make so much damn noise!”

“Francoise…”

“Just shut up! Go away!” She threw a pillow at him, rolling over in the blankets again to disappear from sight. Ivan sighed, tugging his shirt on, then disappeared into the bathroom to scrub at his face. After shaving and arranging his shirt, he made his way into their tiny kitchen, turning on the stove to boil some water. His movements made the only sounds in the apartment, and as he slid his feet into his shoes he glanced back at the bedroom door for a moment to think. Why was he boiling water again?

Oatmeal, right, oatmeal-focus, Ivan. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before adding the packet. Ah yes, boiled water and prepackaged meals. A joy usually reserved for college students. Stirring the pot, he found a clean bowl and poured the soupy mixture into it, gathering his papers into his suitcase as he ate.

A soft noise startled him as he placed the bowl in the sink, looking up to see Francoise in the doorway. Nightdress askew, and hair still ruffled, she looked to him with wide, innocent eyes, hesitating. “Can you make something for me?”

“Francoise-“

“Please, Ivan, just a little thing, a tiny thing just for me-“ Her voice was light, and lilting, tugging at him with little golden threads of richness. He sighed, filling the pot again, then set the packet beside the stove before nodding to her.

“Listen, Francoise, I have to go-“

“Call me darling.”

“Darling, I have to get to work, and I don’t have that long, so please, just-you can do this, can’t you?”

“Ivan!” She protested, pulling at his shirt. “Please? I’m still tired from last night and a little hung over and-“

“No! That’s enough, Francoise, I-I have to go.” He pulled away from her, taking his briefcase again before moving to the door. “Have a good day.”

“Ivan-“ She fumed for a moment, watching him go. “Fine! But don’t come back. I can’t stand it, watching you go without even a moment of-“

“Yes, Francoise.” He nodded meekly, closing the door behind him before heading down the stairs. Outside, the city twinkled in warm, dusty orange, welcoming the morning sun. Finding his bus stop, Ivan tucked his hands into his pockets, nodding to the few others from the apartment complex as they gathered together. Eventually, the bus did arrive, letting them gather on to fill into whatever space they found.

He remembered this whole sequence differently, recalling it with different girlfriends, different friends, enemies-then Francoise. She used to kiss him goodbye in the mornings. He remembered that much. That was the best part of their moving in together, if he was honest.

Work itself never changed, and he appreciated that. Clock in, clock out, every day. The simple logistics of technology and binary were a constant in his life, a stark contrast to Francoise’s love of books and parchment. They had met at a bar, strangely enough, and he was drawn to her flowery prose, her decadent voice as she described the arch of his nose and quirk of his eyebrows. Getting into bed was the least of their concerns.

Now, though…he sighed as he logged on to his work computer, nodding to a coworker across the aisle as she filed in. Amelia was nice enough. A cute girl, if overly excitable. He often got chain e-mails from her, usually on the topic of the Grand Canyon or various other sights around the world.

Work was quick, if not overly exciting, and he considered what Francoise had said before he had left that morning. She rarely meant it. That was the first thing you had to learn about Francoise-her mouth often ran away with her. She liked to talk, she was good at it, and it was not unexpected that she often blurted out what was on her mind without processing it first. To her credit, that had improved quickly as time went on, and as she rose in position in her firm, but in private she continued to speak as she saw fit.

It was part of living with her. Living and loving. He smiled wryly as he headed out of the building, fingering his phone to text her. He should write it down, tell it to her later. She’d appreciate the effort. He considered making the call, but disregarded it, heading instead into another district of the city.

The streets were louder here, the chatter of buyers and sellers weaving through the air. He smiled faintly at a pair of children dashing past him, nodding to their mother as she hurried behind. Ducking into a small shop, he glanced at the fabrics laid out on the tables, nodding in appreciation. He didn’t have Francoise’s eye, but he could see good buys when he saw them.

A little further down, he noticed the young woman selling thread, her hair looped into wild strands and corralled under a patched hat. Her smile was infectious, and he approached her position to pick up a spindle. “Handmade?”

“No, simply hand-dyed.” She nodded, pointing to the spool. “My father taught me how to do it. Are you a craftsman?”

“Oh, no, no, hardly.” He waved quickly, handing her the spool. “Just a…interested party. How much are they?”

“The basic colors are five, but they range up to ten. I can custom make colors too, of course, but it takes some time and I charge more.”

“Right, right…” Ivan nodded, glancing at a glittery arrangement to the side. “You’re able to make gold?”

“An approximation. It’s really just glitter, with some variations of yellow. It’s an imprecise art.”

“Yet you make custom thread.” He smiled faintly, watching her.

“I’m good with some, not so good with others. Sometimes I can convince my father to help.” She shrugged, motioning to the thread. “So?”

“Oh, um-sure. I’ll take it. Ten, you said?”

“For this stuff, yes. Thanks.” She smiled as she accepted his money, waving as he left. “Stop by again!”

“If I get the time…” He shrugged, tucking the thread in his pocket before heading outside. The bus ride was longer than usual, but he didn’t object, making his way upstairs to let himself into the apartment again.

Francoise had already opened the wine, staring at her computer as he entered. “Sorry about this morning.”

He simply grunted, setting his briefcase to the side as he entered the room. “I got you something.”

“You did?” The promise of a gift was enough to make her look up, watching as he took the thread from his pocket. Her expression went blank, studying it, then shrugged. “It’s okay. Useless, but pretty.”

“Like-“ He stopped himself, replacing the thread to head into the bedroom.

“Like what, Ivan?”

“Like a songbird, I think. They make a lot of noise, but they don’t do much else.”

“Yeah…yeah, that’s good! That’s good, Ivan.” She smiled faintly, sipping at the wine as she typed out another sentence. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He sighed, entering the bedroom, then set the thread on his bedside table. It wobbled slightly, but stayed put, and he began undressing to get into lounge pants and lay down on the sheets.

To his surprise, the red fabric was cold beneath his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

In the darkness, he had to feel rather than see her shift against him, surprised to be awake after she had fallen asleep. Having finished the chapter, she was able to take a small break, and that seemed to come in the form of sleep. Left with little else to think about, he considered the thread on the table, thinking of the girl. He was no romantic, but he certainly appreciated beautiful women. The girl in the shop had been happy, vibrant-a brilliant meadowlark. Amelia, his coworker and occasional friend, was a bright, bubbly woman, more practical than Francoise but more likely to take charge of a project. All three were beautiful. And, with a startling clarity, he realized the differences between them were hardly significant. He had chosen Francoise, yes, but he would have just as easily taken Amelia. And the nameless girl from the shop-she at least hadn’t looked at him with disgust.

Like Francoise did.

He shook his head, turning to curl around Francoise’s sleeping form. She wouldn’t like it when she woke up, but he would work it out. It was what he did. He did what she said, and in return she…loved him. The romantic angle of their relationship was rarely explored, but he was certain it was there. He certainly loved her. It was why he did what he did. And she loved him, so she stayed, and wrote, and sang for him, and struggled against his embraces.

At least, so he thought.

Confused, and a little more heartsore than he had been when he had started out, he tried to slip into an uneasy sleep, tossing and turning in the tangles of the dark red sheets.


	4. Chapter 4

She never told him much about her work, but he knew enough by now to tell when he would be needed. Or, as she put it, when his essence was required to fuel the creative process. If he didn’t know any better, he would have though she functioned only on sleep and wine, with seduction and sex as appetizers. He didn’t like to think of it that way, but he couldn’t stop the thought from filtering in. Even as she smiled at him across the table, her bare feet trying to engage him in some kind of ritualistic foreplay, he could only watch with a modicum of interest. It’s not that he disliked having sex, no, simply-

It was with her. And knowing her, it meant the world was never the same when she was in the mood. Or, rather, when she put herself in the mood. She would flirt, toy, and play with him as she pleased, finding no resistance as she lured him into the bedroom. He would sit, and watch blankly, as she moved around him, placing a hand at his crotch momentarily before slinking behind him. Sex was an art, if only for her, and he was her canvas. Unmoving. Unresponsive. Practically unnecessary, except for the effects she wrought.

When they had started, he preferred it this way. Finally, he had met a woman who was not only more experienced than he was, but who wasn’t afraid to show it off. She eagerly pounced on him, forcing him back as her hands did as they pleased, and he handed the reins to her in order to enjoy the ride. She didn’t expect much from him. The disappearance of such responsibility was satisfying.

He didn’t say anything when she began keeping notebooks beside the bed, or, later on, the laptop running as she moved against him.

At some point, he noticed that she never concentrated on him any longer, letting him move as he wished while focusing on a point on the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed. Still, he didn’t complain. She was beautiful. She was enchanting. And she loved him.

She had chosen the sheets, after all, and decorated the bedroom in tones of red and orange. He thought it a bit much, but it did make their trysts seem more…important. As the romantic, she knew what to do. She came with the words of poets on her lips, her painted face only missing the signature of an artist to complete the work.

That was what made it hard, then, to deal with living with her, watching as the artist’s inspiration turned into disgust for the origin of that inspiration, watching as she destroyed anything which stifled her in fits of passion. Narrowly had he avoided a similar fate. Her perfume filled the apartment, her lipstick stained the walls, and he drowned in her, knowing better than to fight. Her kisses, once plentiful, became a rare occurrence, as her obsession with him-and his performance in bed-was frustrated. She needed more. She always needed more. And he knew he would not always have enough to give.

Fortunately, it had never come up, whether by his avoidance or her ignorance, and so they went on. She shouted at him, grew annoyed and angry, and then, when he came home, would fuck him all the same. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was him. At least, so he thought. But as she winced, shifting against him to roll her hips against his, he remembered why her concentration was so disturbing.

He didn’t matter to her. His body, sure, she would be glad to take, but for a romantic to so ignore the soul-

He wondered absently if she was seeing anyone else.

With a disdainful stare, she shook her head, voice going soft to apologize. Why would you think that, Ivan, she said, what did I do? Of course, she had done nothing tangible, so he shrugged. She leaned against his chair, twining her arms about his neck, and sighed into his messy hair, murmuring apologies. He was about to speak again, hopeful for once that they might actually talk. But the phone call quickly dispelled that notion.

Exhausted, sweaty, and slightly sore from her insistence, he had fallen back against the bed, wondering if he would ever sleep again with her in the room. Every time they met, she either despised or adored him, and while the adoration was nice, to have her disdain him was the worst insult possible. He couldn’t even remember the last time they had gone out for dinner.

They might as well get married, he thought. Make it official. Keep her with me, forever and a day, and stop her from using anyone else. It would work. But she would refuse. She would ignore him, as she tended to do, and simply patronize him like a child.

The worst part was, it worked. He could complain all he wanted, cry silently into the pillow at night, but he still stayed with her. She was his only lifeline. She had accepted him, and in the end, it completed him. He couldn’t just leave that.

The strange togetherness they had woven was not something to be brushed off lightly. He knew that. And, for some reason, she knew that too. Even something as small as that was enough to keep him drawn to her-every small measure of dedication on her part was repaid tenfold by him. Life wasn’t easy, dealing with her and her moods, but he still accepted it. It was what his life had become, and he had accepted it. He couldn’t complain. It wouldn’t do any good.


	5. Chapter 5

He winced as he looked in the mirror, marking the bruise blooming on his shoulder. Francoise was still asleep, as per her usual, but he could still feel her teeth against the skin of his neck. Her libido hadn’t subsided, since chapters were still needed, but he was losing sleep. She had never had had so much trouble with a novel, never faced such a lack of inspiration before, and of course, she blamed him.

He was her inspiration, she said, and though he was happy to appease her, even her complaints grew more and more impossible. Her moments of goodwill grew rarer and rarer, and though they were certainly worth his time, he was hard-pressed to find anything good about her in her slumps of despair.

Even though it was the weekend, he still woke early, trained by a lifetime of early mornings. Francoise remained in bed, tangled in the sheets, and he could hear her mumbling in her sleep as she tossed and turned. The morning sun, however, eventually proved an amiable alarm clock, and she soon moved about, getting dressed for the day.

He spoke little to her as he prepared breakfast, earning only a curt nod as he handed the plat to her. “I…was thinking we could head out today.”

“I don’t have time.” She scowled, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I have to-“

“Francoise, please?” He glanced at her, unsure of how to continue. “I’ve been of no help, I know you’re stuck, and maybe getting out will…help.”

She sighed, falling into a chair to begin eating. “We could do it in the park….”

“You mean-sex? But there’s-“

“That’s the point. We’ve been stuck in here for so long, it’s getting stale. That’s the problem.” She shrugged, chewing. “Nice idea, Vanya. I like it.”

“But I didn’t want to have sex-“

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” She teased, smiling up at him. “It’s not like there’s that much more to do outside anyway.”

“There’s a marketplace, and-Francoise, there will be children!”

“Good. Little bastards need to know how the world works.”

“They are children, need I-“

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Ivan. I appreciate your input. But I don’t need you standing in my way.”

“Francoise, I’m sorry, I know that, I-“ He sighed, nodding. “I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Good!” She grinned, standing to put their dishes in the sink before taking his arm. “A nice walk might do me good.”

“That’s…what I said.” He sighed, letting her lead him outside before opening the door for her. “So you liked the park idea?”

“Sure, the park is fine. As long as we get back before eight, we’ll be good-“

“We should eat lunch out there.” Ivan nodded quickly, ducking his head. “I would…I mean, I’ll pay, if-“

“It’s fine.” She replied shortly, glancing around as they made their way to the park. “There’s a-“

“Chinese place down the way, a few blocks over-“

“Don’t interrupt me, Ivan.”

“Sorry.” He nodded, tensing. “But…it’s cheap….”

“And rat-infested, more like.”

“Please?”

“Not Chinese. No.” They fell quiet, entering the small section of nature the city had deemed necessary to wedge in between two buildings. Around them, elderly residents read on small benches, pudgy dogs resting at their feet. The silence stretched between them, ambient noise from the street doing little to encourage conversation, and finally they emerged on the other side of the park, Francoise dragging Ivan across the street in a lull of traffic.

“Francoise?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…” Ivan trailed off, thinking.

“Do I what, bastard? Finish it.”

“Do you still find me attractive?”

The question quieted her, and it was nearly two blocks later when she replied. “Of course I do. You’re still sexy. And you’re still good in bed.”

“Right.” He sighed, concentrating on their steps. “If we met, today, having never known each other before, would you still love me?”

“Love’s not an easy thing, Ivan. I should know. It wouldn’t-“

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“You want me to say that I’d love you?”

“I want you to say that you love me now.”

“That wouldn’t change what I might say if we happened to meet today.”

“I don’t-“ Ivan winced, stubbing his toe on a chunk of sidewalk. “I’m sorry, what if’s aren’t helpful.“

“No. They aren’t.” She tugged him along, glancing up at a sign before leading him into a restaurant. He was surprised, but followed, nodding to the waiter standing inside before looking to her.

“We just ate breakfast-“

“We’ll eat another.”

“It’s almost noon-“

“Damn it, Ivan, then we’ll eat lunch!” She straightened, scowling, then relaxed again to put a finger to her temple. “God, I swear I won’t make it another week…”

“Francoise, Francoise, please, calm down.” Gauging the reactions of the other restaurant patrons, Ivan judged that no one had witnessed her small outburst, and soon relaxed. “Why did you want to come here?”

“I know the cook. Scoundrel of a friend, and complete idiot if I ever met one, but it’s enough to get us a discount.” She waved to the waiter, following as he led the couple to a small table. They sat in silence, watching him disappear again, then turned to their menus almost mechanically. A few snippets of conversation were bandied about the table, questions about the entrées traded back and forth, but they soon fell silent, speaking to the waiter when he returned.

The clientele of the small restaurant tended to the more refined members of society, and Ivan figured he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find that Francoise liked it here. She was among familiar sounds, sights, and smells, while he was ever so slightly out of place. The deep purple décor and low voices of the other patrons made him feel as though he was in a library, and as Francoise sipped at her wine he took the opportunity to look around.

Across the way, a young couple sat with their hands in their laps, the man doing little to dispel the uncomfortable setting. The girl, for her part, seemed to have a permanent blush, and fiddled with her skirt self-consciously. She wasn’t a bad looking girl, Ivan supposed, though her nervousness altered the vision. As she stood, he watched the sway of her skirt while she hurried past, taking in the sight before she disappeared from view around the corner.

A moment too late, he registered Francoise’s scowl of disapproval, and turned to face her fully. “What is it.”

“You were looking at her. Watching her. Judging her, with that little…thing you do.” She waved a hand, finishing her wine. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s no different than what I do with you.” He shrugged, taking the meal as it arrived. “She looked nice. I paid attention.”

“So you would give up all you have with me just to indulge your fantasy with some girl?”

“No, Francoise…” He sighed, glancing down. “I didn’t mean…”

She quieted in return, watching as the food arrived. They picked at their respective meals in silence, thinking to themselves, before Ivan looked up again.

“Francoise?”

She hummed in response, refusing to look up at him.

“If…If another man came by, say-the one across the way, there, and if he could do a better job of…pleasing you than I can-would you take him up on it?”

At the question, she studied him, eyes canvassing his expression before shrugging. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, because we don’t-I don’t-“ Ivan hesitated, and eventually slumped back with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

She made no reply, picking at her plate.

“Francoise.”

She shrugged at the name, but resolutely took another bite.

“Francoise, listen to me.”

Again, nothing.

“Please!”

She rolled her eyes, but swallowed, looking back up at him. “What do you want me to say, Ivan? That I’d leave you in a heartbeat if I found a man with better pay? If I found a white knight out of a romance novel? I’m smart, I know that won’t happen. You’re cute. You have a nice apartment. And you put up with me. That’s all I need, and I don’t expect more.”

“Do you wonder why I put up with you? Why I’m still here? You aren’t-“ Ivan hesitated, swallowing his words. “You don’t…care about me. You never have. And I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“If what’s worth what? Damn it, Ivan, talk sense.”

“If loving you is worth you not loving me.” He bowed his head, quieting as he stared at his half-empty plate. Francoise paused, silent across the table, before pushing her own plate away.

“Don’t complicate things with the l-word. Life is hard enough as it is.”

“But we used to-you used to say it all the time, about everything, you-“ Ivan hesitated as the bill came, taking it from the waiter to fill it out.

“I was young, Ivan. Naïve, probably. So were you. Stop dwelling in the past and concentrate on the present.”

“I’m trying, Francoise-“

“If you’re going to break up with me, just do it already. I can’t stand someone who doesn’t make up their mind.” Standing, Francoise moved to exit the restaurant, Ivan hurrying behind her as he handed the check to the clerk up front.

“Francoise-“

“Yes?” Turning to face him, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the midday crowd forced to weave around her.

“I…” Ivan cursed himself, scrambling to come to a decision, before straightening to his full height. “Fine then. Next week.”

“Next week what?” She hesitated, thrown off guard.

“I won’t speak to you, or touch you, until next week. This time exactly. I’ll make breakfast, but I’ll sleep on the couch. And next weekend, we’ll come back here.”

“The restaurant, or-“

“No. Just…here. It doesn’t matter where we go, as long as it’s around here.” He nodded, folding his arms. “I’ll think of something.”

“So, do we start now, or-“

“Do you want to?” Watching her, Ivan was surprised to see her hesitate this time, shrugging half-heartedly.

“Yes. We’ll start now. Next weekend, then.” With a curt nod, she turned to go, abandoning him in the middle of the crowd. Suddenly light-hearted, Ivan smiled to see her go, considering the spectacle for a moment before copying her, turning to head back towards the park. He had work to do.


	6. Chapter 6

The two of them didn’t say a word for the entire duration of the week, a curt nod the only thing passed between them in the mornings after Ivan set the breakfast on the counter. He claimed the couch every night, working away on some unspoken project, while Francoise disappeared into the bedroom to work on her own manuscripts. He highly suspected that wine had a large hand in her writing process as of late, but considering his own agenda was adopting the same tack, he had no right to complain. He didn’t know, and no longer cared, about what she might have been working on-and she no longer volunteered information. Everything had become much simpler, even if he never got to hear about tone versus mood over dinner.

She had some interest into his new project-and what exactly he was trying to do to win their deal-but he ventured nothing. No flowers, no cards. To be honest, it piqued her interest, but if she asked, it would mean he had won.

The first day had seen her shooting him pointed glares, but even the use of her skimpiest nightgown did nothing to his resolution. She grew annoyed, then irritated, but if he could do it then she would too. There was no communication. None. He stuck to his end of the deal, and she managed to stay out of his way.

Saturday came around, and he tossed her the mail as he tugged his coat on. She moved to join him, but his glare made her pull away as he disappeared outside. She rifled through the envelopes, tossing the bills aside, when a magazine made her pause. She knew the publication, but hadn’t realized that it was coming so soon-it was a small, independent corporation hoping to help beginning writers. Technically, since that what she was, she had signed up, and they tended to have good advice from time to time. Looking through it, she raised an eyebrow, locating the first place winner for a writing contest.

“Submitted by Anonymous? That’s different.” She shrugged, finding herself cereal and a bowl before flattening the magazine. It was good to read what other authors said, how they used their prose and what styles they employed. ‘Diversifying’, the magazine called it.

The winner this time was a bit different from their usual entries. Something a bit more esoteric, a bit more conceptual than their usual stuff. She liked it. It seemed to be some sort of ode, a dedication of someone’s life to the pursuit of love. The concept was nice, even if it went a bit over her head.

She glanced at the time, shoving the magazine away to find her things. She had to remember where Ivan had taken her last week, and given her memory, that could be an interesting challenge. Ducking out of the apartment, she glanced up and down the sidewalk, eventually deciding on a direction. The landmarks appeared to be the same, and she was encouraged to find herself nearing some of the signs she recognized from last week-and there was Ivan, standing in front of the restaurant. She hurried to meet him, ending up slightly out of breath, and was forced to look up at him as she approached.

“Jerk.”

“I didn’t make you come.” He pointed out, beckoning to her. “Walk with me.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I said I’d figure something out-and I did. So, come with me, or don’t. It’s up to you.”

She hesitated, but slowly followed him, coming alongside him in order to watch the passersby. “Where are we going?”

“A little shop nearby. Do you remember the golden thread I got you?”

“Thread? What-oh, that stuff. I remember.”

He nodded, hands hidden in his pockets. “This way.”

She drew closer to him as the number of people increased, confused. “I’ve never been this way.”

“Because you don’t venture off the beaten path.”

“Is this what this is? Off the beaten path?”

“Of course.” He held open the door as she carefully entered a small, humid restaurant, glancing in consternation at the kitchen. “Order what you like.”

“I can’t even pronounce half the stuff here-it’s all in Chinese, I don’t know-“

“Hannah! Hannah, a little help-oh, there you are.” Ivan smiled as a dark-haired girl raced toward them, nodding to her as she helped them to a seat. “Francoise, this is Hannah-Hannah, Francoise. She helped me pick out the thread for you.”

“Oh-oh, okay, of course.” Francoise nodded, taking her seat in some confusion. “Why is she here, then?”

“She’s been showing me around. And she knows almost everyone in the neighborhood.”

“Yep! I’ve got cousins here and there-my father knows even more people. It’s fun when we have reunions.” Hannah grinned, nodding to the menu. “I’d recommend the chicken.”

“Oh-Okay, sure. I’ll have that.”

“Just the small platter for me, Hannah.” Ivan nodded, handing her the menus.

“So, did you like the thread, Francoise?” Hannah asked, taking the plastic. “I’m sure Ivan told you, it’s my specialty.”

“Specialty? How so?”

“We make the thread. Dye it, specifically. The gold’s the best we have.”

Francoise flushed suddenly, realizing. “But…Ivan, why-“

“Thank you, Hannah, you can go.” Ivan turned to face Francoise, letting Hannah dash off again. “I got you the thread because it made me think of you. That is all.”

“I don’t work with thread, I’m not a seamstress or anything.”

“Then use it to tie your hair up, I don’t care!” Ivan shrugged, leaning onto the table. “I just-I do nice things for you, Francoise. I do it because it makes me happy, and I hope that it makes you happy.”

“Well-yeah, sure.” She shrugged, leaning onto the table to copy him. “I appreciate it, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Ivan ran his hands into his hair, sighing. “I don’t suppose you read the mail this morning.”

“I did, as a matter of fact.” She raised an eyebrow. “Nothing for you, as usual.”

“I didn’t expect there to be.” He trailed off, thinking, only nodding in thanks as the food arrived. Francoise carefully took a bite of her meal, tasting the spices, then looked to Ivan.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I wanted to show you the neighborhood.”

“Last week you were about to break it off. Did you come to a decision?”

“It depends. Did you read your magazine?”

She furrowed her brow. “I did. How did you know it came?”

“It’s on a schedule. And I saw it when I got the mail.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I read it. About as good as it always is.”

He nodded, thinking. “Didn’t they have a contest, or something?”

“That, yeah. It was surprisingly good this time around. It was some expose on love, a little insight into passion-I liked the prose.”

“Really? About-love? I thought that wasn’t your thing.”

“Ivan, I write romances. I may not understand love, but I can appreciate it.”

“What about that-what was it? Expose. Were they appreciating love, or understanding it?”

“Oh, they understood it. It was actually a bit sad, in the end, because they were the only ones who did.” She grew more animated, nodding. “They loved someone, but that love was only partially returned. They didn’t feel….satisfied? No, appreciated. ‘And she sleeps beside me, hiding her face-‘”

“’From my side of the bed, hiding her self from me-and I know I have no chance of getting inside that side of her.’” Ivan finished, nodding. “I know.”

“Wait. I thought you didn’t read it?”

“I don’t.” Ivan shrugged, stirring his water with a straw.

“But you know what it said, you know what I was talking about-“

“That’s because I wrote it.”

Francoise froze, staring at him. “You…wrote that?”

“And submitted it. I was impressed by the placement, but I won’t complain.”

“Ivan, that was-where did that come from, you don’t write! You’ve never written, as long as I’ve known you!”

“You grew on me. I picked up a few habits.” He shrugged, avoiding her glance. “So I jotted something down.”

“But-But if you wrote that, then…then I’m her. I’m the one you’re talking about.”

Ivan slowly nodded, sitting back.

“You-You arrogant prick! You think you understand love, and that I-that I don’t? That I’m some stupid girl, bumbling along beside you! How dare you?”

“Francoise, can you blame me? I let you stay with me, I cook for you, I sleep with you, I do everything for you and-and what do I get? I get the silent treatment, I get you…I don’t get you. I love you. And I get nothing.” He trailed off, bowing his head. “I love you, but you don’t love me. And if you don’t love me, then there’s no reason for me to stay.”

“Are you pulling this crap on me? We never got into this kind of emotional stuff, and I thought we wouldn’t have to. I liked what we had.”

“Francoise, we had a relationship. Relationships grow, people change, and-and I fell in love. And I don’t know what that means.”

“Says the one who pretends to know.”

“No one knows. We just bumble along, figuring it out.”

Francoise sighed, sitting back. “You really think…you love me?”

“If the world was perfect, I would stay with you forever.”

“That’s not love.”

“It’s the best I have.”

She smiled faintly, poking at her water. “It’s nice. What you wrote was nice too.”

“Thank you. That’s high praise, coming from you. I’ve read some of your earlier stuff.”

“I know, I let you. Looking back on it, it makes me laugh.”

“It shouldn’t. It’s pretty good.”

They both fell silent, staring at their empty plates. Eventually, Hannah returned to clear the table, picking up the plates before Francoise held up a hand. “Hannah, right?”

“Yes-did you need something?”

“Do you happen to have any thread in purple? Or maybe a deep red?”

“Sure thing, I have plum and crimson. Which would you like?”

“Let’s go with the plum.” Francoise nodded, watching her disappear before turning back to Ivan. He stared at her in evident surprise, making her look away. “I…I thought of a project I saw once. It just takes a few knots, I think I could manage it.”

“You…would you be making two?”

She carefully nodded, fumbling with her fingers. “Sure. One for me, one for you-it would work.”

“You’re staying?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“And you’re-“

“I’m going to try. Ivan, I-I should have warned you. I’ve never been good with relationships. Sex, yes, relationships, no. And to have you love me, to have you…give me things and lavish things on me, I-I don’t know what to do. It’s different.” She chuckled humorlessly, trailing off. “Guess that shows my taste in men, huh?”

“Apparently good ones are hard to find-or so I’ve heard.”

“So, if you’ll help me, I’ll try and figure out what it means to love someone. Easier said than done, I suppose, but-“

“I’ll do what I can. I’m here to help.”

“I know. That’s where you’ve always been, huh?” She smiled, shrugging. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you so very, very much-I mean, I should be angry, I want to be angry, but you…” She paused. “You’ve gotten calmer.”

“Calmer?”

“You used to fly off the handle at the smallest insurrection. But now-for a few months, even-you’ve been hiding this away. I mean, I don’t like it, but you’re surprisingly hard to read. That’s part of what made it so hard to figure it out.”

“It? Love?”

“Something like that.” She nodded. “So, um-were you planning on dessert?”

He chuckled softly, standing. “I’d rather we saw to that thread you wanted. Plum, was it?”

“Plum. You outdid me with the gold-I had to find something suitably flattering.” She took the arm offered to her, drawing close to him. “I hope the purple brings out the best of that gold.”

“I’m sure they’ll complement each other beautifully.” He nodded, leading her out. “An amazing combination.”


End file.
